You Are Cordially Invited
by dancingroundallalone
Summary: to Kurt Hummel's Halloween party. Featuring: the New Directions, pumpkin carving, too many candles, apple bobbing, a seance and Blaine in a pirate costume. And some alcohol. And leather...
1. Pumpkins

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters.

"What do you think?"

Kurt turned from the kitchen counter, where he had spent the last half an hour gutting and carving a fresh pumpkin, to look at his boyfriend. The granite top was strewn with white strands of skin and seeds, and a large plastic mixing bowl was near to overflowing with the sticky orange flesh that had been so meticulously scraped from the inside of the fruit. The carving was proving a little more difficult however, and although Kurt had outlined his intended design with a black Sharpie before going at it with the fruit knife, the left eye of the Jack O' Lantern's face was considerably smaller than the right.

Kurt's mouth dropped open slightly at the sight of Blaine in his party costume. "Um Honey… pirates don't wear bowties."

Blaine grinned, his eyes glittering under the spotlights on the kitchen ceiling. He looked down at his costume of choice: long, loose-fitting, white button-up; black skinny jeans; brown leather, calf-cutting boots and a thick, double-breasted, navy blue coat that skimmed his thighs and was fashioned with chunky, buttoned cuffs at the wrists. The whole look was finished off with a typical pirate's hat and a multicoloured stuffed parrot peeking from the edge of Blaine's coat pocket. The image would have been somewhat spectacular, in Kurt's opinion, if not for the red and black striped bowtie tucked under Blaine's chin.

"I thought you liked my bowties?" There was a clear teasing tone in his response.

"I do, but I'm also acutely aware of the dangers of fashion crimes," Kurt replied easily, stepping across the kitchen towards his boyfriend.

"There are no fashion crimes on Halloween."

"Well, let's just wait to see what Rachel Berry shows up in before we make that decision," Kurt said, smirking and tugging on the offending bowtie.

"Surely being Kurt Hummel's best friend should ensure she doesn't commit such atrocities?" Blaine replied, pulling Kurt's hands away and slotting his fingers with his own.

"Surely being Kurt Hummel's _boyfriend_ should have the same effect?"

"There's nothing wrong with my bowtie!" Blaine exclaimed, watching Kurt's eyebrows rise against the smooth expanse of his forehead. "I'm keeping it," he resigned, trying hard not to pout. "And what are _you_ wearing anyway?"

"You'll see," was Kurt's only response, before kissing Blaine on the cheek and swinging around to restart the violent hacking at pumpkin flesh that he'd had little success with so far.

"You need a hand?"

"No, it's ok," Kurt said, unwilling to give up his battle against the unyielding fruit. "I don't want you to mess up your costume, or, you know, lose a thumb." He smirked at the frown he knew was on Blaine's face without needing to turn around. "Can you go throw some more webs and stuff around the hall?"

"Yeah sure," Blaine said, rolling his eyes fondly. "If you're certain I won't injure myself."

He headed out of the kitchen as Kurt continued carving, doing little to hide his laughter.

Ten minutes later, Blaine had finished draping fake spider webs over the banisters of the staircase and had begun the difficult task of pinning paper silhouettes of black cats and bats to the drapes over the front door. He'd only attached three and accidentally torn two when he heard a startled yelp from the kitchen and flinched, almost sticking himself with a pin.

"Kurt?"

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow!" Kurt's voice was tight and he was jumping on the spot as Blaine rounded the corner and caught sight of him in the middle of the kitchen, clutching his left hand in his right with an expression of distress on his face.

"Hey, what happened?" Blaine asked, reaching him and taking Kurt's hand in his own. There was a crimson gash through the pale skin between his thumb and forefinger and the blood dripped heavily across his shaking palm.

"Why can't I just carve a stupid pumpkin?!" Kurt cried, tears glistening in his ocean-blue eyes.

"It's okay, come and sit down," Blaine hushed him, gently squeezing Kurt's elbow and leading him to the dining table. Kurt sniffed loudly as he dropped into a chair, his jaw hard and his breaths fast.

"I'll go get the first aid kit and I'll fix it, okay?" Blaine said softly, stroking Kurt's cheek before kissing his nose. "Don't cry," he added in a whisper before rushing to the downstairs bathroom.

Kurt swiped at his eyes with his uninjured hand, trying with difficulty to stop himself from shaking. His cheeks were a violent red but his breathing was steadier when Blaine got back, carrying a green plastic box and a handful of cotton wool pads.

"Maybe I should have dressed as a nurse instead," Blaine smiled, opening the case and taking out a bottle of antiseptic, before dabbing a healthy amount onto a cotton pad. He looked up into Kurt's eyes, willing his boyfriend's tears to stop shining. Kurt's mouth twitched a little at the sight of Blaine's gaze, but he bit his bottom lip sharply when Blaine touched the cotton pad to his broken skin.

"Sorry, sorry," Blaine said quickly, concentrating on the cut and trying not to press too hard.

"It's okay," Kurt replied, his voice high. "I feel so pathetic."

Blaine looked back up at him. "Well don't," he said seriously. "If I'd nearly cut off a thumb, I'd be scared too." He paused, widening his eyes. "And I'm a pirate. Pirates aren't supposed to be scared of anything."

Kurt snorted, his ashen face finally breaking into a smile. "Blaine!" he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"What?" Blaine asked, taking a roll of bandage wrap from the case and unravelling a length of it. He lifted Kurt's hand gently before binding it firmly in the gauze.

Kurt held back his sarcastic reply and just sighed. "Thank you."

Blaine winked and kissed his palm with careful lips. "Want me to finish the pumpkin?"

By nine thirty pm, the entire ground floor and basement of the Hummel's house had been transformed into (in Kurt's biased, and Blaine's minutely-less biased opinion), the most terrifying, atmospheric and _fashionable_ haunted lair to ever exist. The porch light shone brightly through the glass panel in the front door, illuminating the paper silhouettes attached to the curtains and casting elongated cat and bat-shaped shadows over the hall carpet. The walls had been sprayed with white silly-string and sheets of false spider webs hung artistically from the stair railings. Ten packets of various-sized plastic spiders had been dotted around the house: on bathroom shelves, hung from door handles, tucked behind sofa cushions and sprinkled over window sills. With the aid of a small step-ladder, Blaine had hung black veils over the doorways to the kitchen and basement, and a line of candle-lit skulls led the way to the downstairs bathroom.

Blaine had been forced to abandon the coat and hat of his pirate costume after an hour of intense banner-hanging, but had had less of a struggle with the pumpkin carving than Kurt had. Once chiselled into submission, the pumpkin had been placed in the front window, a single candle flickering temptingly inside it, and although the smell of the fruit would linger in the house for a least a week, and his hand would not be healed for a while longer, Kurt had to admit, it did look perfect.

He had insisted that the entire ground floor should be lit only by candles, but when Finn came home and almost broke his nose in his attempt to devour the most recent batch of Blaine's cookies, Kurt agreed to extricate the Christmas fairy lights from the under-stairs cupboard and leave on the kitchen spotlights because, 'I know it's Halloween but we don't really want anyone bleeding all over the house', as Finn so eloquently put it. He hadn't noticed the bandage on his brother's left hand, or the way he flinched each time it momentarily knocked against his thigh.

"Did you bring the food?" Kurt asked, not bothering to inform Finn of the earlier incident.

"Yep," his brother replied happily. He dropped two large brown paper bags onto the now pumpkin-skin-and-human-blood-free kitchen counter and began digging out their contents. "We've got: jelly snakes, pumpkin pies, green Jell-O cubes, red apples, marshmallow ghosts – I went to _three_ stores looking for those – orange cupcakes, green cupcakes, cocktail sausages, more red apples, marzipan bats, savoury eggs, _another_ bag of apples – why do we need so many apples?"

"Apple bobbing, obviously."

"Of course," Finn continued, nodding. "Can I have a cookie now? I got everything you asked for, right?"

Kurt laughed. "You did. Go ahead," he said smiling.

"This place looks awesome, by the way!" Finn mumbled after taking a large bite of chocolate chip cookie.

Kurt nodded, taking the jelly cubes out of their packet and cutting them apart with scissors after realizing he was unable to break them using his injured hand. "Blaine did most of it. Wait until you see the basement," he said with pride.

"I thought Blaine baked the cookies?" Finn asked, his confusion not affecting his ability to swallow the rest of his biscuit whole.

"He did."

"So he baked the cookies _and_ decorated the house? What did you do?"

Kurt blinked. "I-"

He was interrupted by Blaine's return from downstairs, closing the basement door with his hip and dropping a stack of empty cardboard boxes onto the counter. "I've done all the lights downstairs," he informed Kurt with a satisfied grin. "I think we're pretty much finished."

"Dude," Finn said, pointing at his brother's boyfriend. "You are _so_ whipped."

Blaine raised his eyebrows and held back a snort. "_Dude_," he replied. "You're the one who threw your school's chance at Nationals to get your girlfriend back."

"Touché," Finn said, grabbing another cookie and leaving the kitchen as Kurt sniggered behind him.

"What was that about?" Blaine asked, folding up the boxes and dropping them into the recycling bin as Kurt dissolved the jelly cubes in a bowl with water from the kettle.

"Nothing," Kurt smiled, shaking his head. There was a pause.

"I'm not _whipped_, right?"

Kurt looked up, confusion crossing his features. "Of course not," he said, fighting back a smile. "You'd have taken off the bowtie if you were."

"Kurt!"

Kurt's responding laugh was cut short when Blaine's lips caught his in a surprisingly deep kiss. Blaine's arms wrapped securely around his slim waist as he pressed their chests together, holding on until Kurt slid his uninjured hand over the front of Blaine's shoulder.

"Hey," Kurt sighed, moving away half an inch. "I've got Jell-O to make."

Blaine just smiled and kissed him again. "You've also got a costume to impress me with," he replied, his golden eyes blazing.

"Oh my God!" Kurt gasped, turning to the digital clock on the oven. It read ten fifteen. "I completely forgot!"

He jumped back as he heard the doorbell ring: the first guests were already arriving and he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

"Go on," Blaine said, smiling at the unnecessary stricken look on his boyfriend's face. "Go get ready. I'll entertain your guests." The panic dropped from Kurt's face and was replaced with relief before he headed towards the kitchen door.

"This costume better be worth it," Blaine added teasingly. He winked as Kurt turned back to him, but the look sparking in the responding blue eyes was positively seductive.

**AN: This _would_ be canon (fitting in after season three) if Halloween were in August. So let's just change the date of a centuries-old tradition rather than the genre of my fic. I'm allergic to AUs...**


	2. Apples

The porch light flickered almost too conveniently as Blaine pulled open the front door, his pirate coat and hat swiftly returned to complete his outfit. Two dark figures stood in the doorway, one in a long black cloak with a high-necked collar, and the other in fishnets and a plethora of black lace. Twin pairs of glow-in-the-dark fangs gleamed out of the darkness and Blaine couldn't hold back a shiver.

"Tina, Mike!" he laughed as their faces emerged from the gloom.

"Hey Blaine, happy Halloween!" Tina smiled, the false fangs forcing her mouth to fall at a slightly uncomfortable angle. "We brought candy," she said, handing him a heavy, cellophane-wrapped box.

"This place looks amazing," Mike added, looking around at the jars of rubber eyeballs and plastic bones littered around the staircase with impressed appreciation.

"Thanks guys," Blaine grinned. "Come in. Kurt's still getting ready." He led the way into the kitchen as Mike closed the door behind them, looking back through the curtains as a red light flashed past the window.

Twenty minutes later, Finn had descended the heavily decorated staircase, sporting a furry black spider costume, complete with four extra legs made from wire wrapped in tissue paper and black tights. He circled the kitchen and sitting room with a tray of snacks, trying not to injure any unsuspecting guest with a clumsy (real _or_ false) limb. Tina and Mike were chatting excitedly with Sam, who had gone all out in a white bed sheet with cut out eyes, and Artie, who had expertly constructed a papier-_mâché pumpkin around his wheelchair, painted it bright orange and styled his hair into a slick point on the top of his head. _

Kurt still hadn't returned when Blaine opened the door to Rachel, who was quick to compliment Blaine's bowtie and handed him a toy cauldron overflowing with chocolate.

"Thanks Rachel! Your costume looks great," he replied with sincerity, secretly hoping Kurt would be too distracted to comment on Rachel's decision to wear black-and-purple-striped tights with a green witch's dress, compete with bright pink spider-shaped stickers and a silver witch's hat.

"Where's Kurt?" she asked, closing the door as a gust of cold air threatened to extinguish the candles.

"Probably waiting to make an entrance," Blaine replied fondly, leading her into the kitchen.

"Oh of course," Rachel said, smirking lightly. "Wait until you see his costume!"

Blaine blinked, taking in her knowing expression with timorous eyes, but before he could ask for more details, she'd vanished into the sitting room in search of Finn.

"No way, it doesn't count unless the apples are in the water. There's got to be that danger of drowning to make it a real game!" Sam's voice was audible from the hall as Blaine followed it into the sitting room, where most of the New Directions were lounging around with cocktail sausages and various drinks.

"No man, you hang them on a string. It's like, an ancient tradition," Artie replied, gesturing with an uneaten apple in his hand.

"But that's too easy," Finn argued. "And you don't get to dunk your head in a barrel of water," he added, as if this was something to put to his advantage.

"Why would you _want_ to do that?" Tina asked, bemused.

The doorbell rang three more times before eleven o'clock: the first, presenting Puck in a spectacular werewolf mask and matching claws, the second was Quinn disguised as the best zombie bride Blaine had ever seen, and finally, Santana and Brittany, in cat-suit and mermaid costume respectively.

"Brittany, what's so scary about a-"

"Let me in Blaine Warbler, or I will lure your pirate ship out into a ripsaw."

"Okaaay."

But it wasn't until the argument in the sitting room had reached dramatic demonstrations from the boys and levels of hysteria from the watching girls, that there was a casual tap on the interior door and a shadow appeared in the frame, causing the whole party to jump in surprise and look up.

Dressed in a bright red shirt and neatly-fitted, intricately laced waistcoat; black leather boots that somehow elongated his impossibly toned legs, and the tightest, most tempting pair of crimson leather pants the existence of which Blaine Anderson would never have imagined possible in the mortal world, Kurt cocked his head to one side, blood red horns glittering from his coifed hair, and tossed an apple into the air, catching it in the same hand before saying in a voice verging on pure provocation, "Who wants to do some apple bobbing?" Eyes glimmering, he took a swift bite from the apple and raised an eyebrow at his watching guests.

Blaine was fairly certain he no longer possessed a brain. Or stomach, for that matter.

"Kurt! Oh my God, you look amazing!" Rachel yelped, breaking the tension and standing to get a better look. "I just knew the waistcoat was a good idea!"

Kurt's face spread into a wide grin as he laughed. "Did you expect any less?"

Puck whistled loudly and Artie cheered his appraisal.

"Hummel, did you _spray on_ those pants?" Santana asked, undeniably impressed.

"Pretty sure I'm no longer straight," Sam muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, oblivious to the wide-eyed stare he received from Artie.

Shaking off their shock, the group made their way into the kitchen, laughing and carrying now-empty glasses. There was a long string tied from the handle of one cupboard to the one opposite, crossing the kitchen about five and a half feet from the ground. From this hung six dark red apples, each about the size of a clenched fist and attached only by their stalks. Alternatively, a large metal cooking pot sat on the tiled floor, filled to the brim with cold water and another six apples.

Kurt stood in front of the breakfast bar, gesturing towards the game. "Knowing we're all going to get very drunk, very quickly-"

He was interrupted by a loud cheer from Puck, who was cracking open two cans of beer simultaneously.

"We should probably play this first before anyone drinks enough to drown. Or worse," Kurt finished, looking pointedly between Blaine and Rachel, neither of whom showed any understanding of his expression.

"Well, I am not dunking _my_ head underwater," Rachel declared, going to stand in front of one of the hanging apples. She was quickly followed by Tina and Quinn, who had to flip back her blood-stained veil in preparation.

"Sure, sure, take the easy option," Sam laughed, removing the sheet from his head. "Leave the real game to the guys!"

Within twenty minutes, the entire kitchen was soaked. Sam, Artie, Blaine and Mike almost choked on their drinks as they watched Puck snarl his way through the vat of water, his furry werewolf gloves gripping the sides to prevent Finn from pushing him straight under. The kitchen counters were littered with cans and half empty bottles, and the effects of the alcohol were hitting them all hard. Santana and Brittany had devised a team-working technique and were snapping their jaws at the same hanging apple, whilst Rachel was continuously bouncing on the balls of her feet, struggling to reach her apple until Tina took pity on her and found her a step-stool. Quinn was the first to tear a bite from her apple, and sat back to record the anarchy of the kitchen on her phone.

Blaine was pointedly ignoring the way Kurt's slick tongue was darting over the flesh of his hanging apple, the way he giggled almost absurdly under the growing influence of the vodka mixers he'd been demolishing, and the conspicuous way his thighs flexed in the tight red leather every time he moved.

In fact, Blaine was doing such a good job of ignoring Kurt that he managed to choke only three times before he dragged his apple out of the water during his turn in the game. The fact that he gladly accepted Puck's offer of Jaeger shots immediately afterwards had nothing to do with his boyfriend's appearance either, of course.

There was a loud shriek as Mike slipped in one of the rapidly increasing puddles on the kitchen floor, gripping the dining table just in time to stop himself falling on a burning candle. Artie had taken control of the music system and he and Sam had begun singing loudly and obnoxiously along with the latest chart track. Quinn's phone was now being used to take shots of her own and each of the other guests costumes, most of which were looking rather worse for wear. Brittany had taken refuge from the waterlogged floor by perching on the kitchen counter, waving her arms above her head as the music grew louder, and announcing that she was changing her name to Ariel.

Around midnight, Blaine was reaching for his next drink when he felt hands pinching his waist and turned to see Kurt, face flushed and eyes bright, grinning at him.

"Boo," he said playfully, wrapping his arms around Blaine's neck.

"Hey," Blaine replied, tilting his head to look up at Kurt's face. "Enjoying your party?"

"I am! Something tells me I should be worried about the mess of the kitchen but I don't really feel like caring…"

Blaine laughed, pulling them closer together as Kurt surveyed the sodden tiled floor. "I'm sure the potential death of either ourselves or one of our friends isn't all that important when you're dressed like this," he teased, gesturing to Kurt's costume.

Kurt grinned widely. "You didn't tell me what you thought of it," he said, pouting.

"You know for a fact that you're torturing me," Blaine replied, completely serious. Kurt just giggled.

"Good."

"Cocktails! Kurt, can we make cocktails?!" Rachel yelped, bouncing across the room, her witch's hat falling from her head and hitting the wet floor only seconds before she slipped in a puddle and fell herself. Santana burst into a peal of laughter and flung out her arm, knocking over a large candle and nearly setting the coffee table alight. Kurt surged for the living room as Quinn tipped her drink over the flames, successfully putting out the fire but leaving the table smouldering.

Finn turned to his brother, wearing an almost identical expression of terror. "M-maybe we sh-should sober up..?"

**AN: Thanks for reading! This is the first time I've written any Glee characters other than Kurt and Blaine, and some of them are a lot harder than others, so please bear with me if their characterisation is a little off. Along with my Americanisms - I do my best. :')**


	3. (Marshmallow) Ghosts

After tugging Rachel off the kitchen floor, wrestling cans of beer from Puck's hands multiple times, and drinking as many glasses of water as they could bear to, the group descended to the basement, still tipsy but considerably more controlled.

It was the first time the guests had had chance to admire the decorations in the basement, and they weren't restrained in their appreciation. The bare brick walls had been hung with black veils that trailed into the centre of the floor and dozens of silk cushions and woollen blankets were littered in a circle around the thick rug. Red fairy lights sparkled overhead and plastic skulls held more candles, which Kurt promptly went around lighting as his friends settled in the circle, some still giggling a little too loudly to be entirely sober.

"Guys, we should tell ghost stories!" Tina exclaimed, leaning across the circle to stop Rachel and Santana's pillow fight.

"I have a better idea," Puck said, pulling a tape from his pocket and gesturing to Finn, who was carrying an ancient-looking tape player down the basement stairs, trailing the mains plug behind him. "I stole this from the music library. 'Halloween Horrors: A Collection of the Best Ghost Stories of the Twentieth Century'," Puck read in what he hoped was a dramatic voiceover tone.

"It's the twentieth century already?" Brittany asked, tugging fake seaweed from her hair.

"It's the twenty_ first_ century," Rachel informed her. "And I bet none of those are even scary."

"Well, we'll soon find out," Puck said, slotting the tape into the player and lying back over the cushions.

The fairy lights went out as Finn replaced their plug in favour of the one attached to the player, and Kurt finished lighting the last candle and flicked off the ceiling lights, leaving the group submerged in the orange glow of the flames as the tape began to play, emitting low crackles of static. He dropped into the circle between Blaine and Puck, pulling a blanket over his body and tucking himself into Blaine's side.

The voice on the tape was gravelly and broken, but when it read out the name of the first story, it was difficult to tell whether it was done for dramatic effect or because of the age of the tape.

"_The Girl with the White Hair._"

There was a resounding 'oooooh' around the circle and low sniggers echoed in the room.

"_About two hundred years ago, there were no houses on this street, just one huge manor owned by a vicar's son. While the vicar himself was a good, friendly man, his son was not. In fact, the owner of the manor house was infamous in the local village for the worst possible reasons."_

"He wore briefs."

"He voted Republican."

"He got a girl pregnant in high school."

"Hey!"

"_His name was Caspian and the word around the village was that he had had an affair with a young maid from the outskirts of the region. The woman had been married to a blacksmith, who excelled in his ability to fashion iron chains of any length and weight._

_At midnight on Halloween, nine months later, Caspian woke to the sound of a sharp tapping on the outside of his bedroom window and the ear-piercing squeal of claws running down the glass."_

The noises were attempted vocally by almost everyone in the group, resulting in a surprisingly well-harmonised, if altogether eerie, sound.

"_Startled, he jumped out of bed and ripped open the curtains, but saw nothing. The tapping sound was then repeated, this time on the front door downstairs._

_Not wanting to appear frightened, Caspian descended the staircase and pulled open the door, but found nothing but a small squirming bundle on the doorstep. There was no one in sight, so Caspian had no choice but to pick up the bundle and unravel it cautiously._

_His hands shook as he slowly pulled back the layers of cotton, one by one, and revealed the horrifying sight of the pale, puffy, uneven face of…"_

The reader paused dramatically, but the suspense was broken by the suggestions offered around the circle.

"Finn Hudson!"

"Rachel Berry!"

"Madonna!"

"Madonna?"

"_a newborn baby."_

"Oh, of course!"

"_Ten years later, Caspian had not left the manor house, living off the supplies he could grow in the grounds of the building and only visible at dusk when he stood in the front window, watching his front drive like a hawk eyeing its prey._

_But his father, the aged vicar, still went to visit Caspian once a month and the knowledge of the second inhabitant of the manor house had spread quickly around the village after a young choir boy overheard a conversation between the vicar and his wife. _

_The baby was now ten years old. A young girl, with snow-white hair and the palest skin that flushed bright red whenever the sunlight shone too strongly through her bedroom window_."

Blaine pinched Kurt's cheek lightly between his thumb and forefinger, earning himself a jab in the ribs in response.

"_But Caspian's daughter was not an ordinary child. There were rumours that she could not speak without rasping, and walked by dragging her feet along the floor, and her _hands… her hands_ were curled into _claws_."_

"Aargh!" Kurt yelled and almost jumped into Blaine's lap as he felt four sharp nails scraping along his forearm, his devil horns falling off with the suddenness of his movement. Rachel and Quinn jumped off their cushions in surprise, and Finn almost took out Brittany's eye with one of his spider legs. "Puck!"

"Sorry, sorry," Puck laughed, holding his claw-clad hands in the air. "I couldn't resist."

The rest of the group rolled their eyes and turned their attention back to the tape as Kurt tucked his arm beneath his blanket, quietly relieved when he felt Blaine's lips graze his forehead.

"_Of course, no one could prove any of these rumours to be true, but the young choir boy, named Franklin, was intrigued. One day, with the encouragement of his school friends, he decided to sneak into the house and find the mysterious girl._

_He was gone for a whole day, and didn't return until late into the night, after his parents and the vicar had searched the entire village at least five times. "Where have you been?!" they demanded to know."_

"I was hitting on chics, Mom!" Sam mocked, lying on his back across the circle.

"_Franklin seemed unharmed, but he hid his left hand in his coat pocket. He told them he had been to visit the girl with the white hair, and the vicar immediately knew Franklin was talking about his granddaughter. _

"_What did you see?" he asked, terrified._

_But Franklin was not afraid. "She was very nice," he told them._

_And that was all he ever said. He did not tell them about the deep scratch the girl had cut across his left palm-"_

"What?" Kurt whispered, running his fingers over the bandage on his left hand.

"_-after she had wrapped thick iron chains around his arms and chest, trapping him in the basement of the manor house for hours. And he did not tell them that he had promised his return the next day, and the day after, and every day on until the girl with the white hair grew old enough to marry him."_

"Hey, there's a dating technique Rachel hasn't tried yet."

"Shut up, Puckerman!"

"_The promises however, were not necessary. Franklin did not need to promise his return to the manor house, because after he entered the grounds again the next day, he did not leave._

_This time, his parents knew where to find him, and with the help of the vicar, they entered the manor, calling out for Franklin and Caspian and the girl with the white hair. There was no reply._

_It was the vicar himself who realized the only place left to look was the basement. With nervous footsteps, the three took candles and climbed slowly down the stairs, the parents still calling out, "Franklin, Franklin!"_

"Franklin, Franklin, Frankliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!" Finn mocked and Rachel reached up to cover his mouth with her hand.

"_The candles flickered in the darkness and the sight of a pale young woman, draped from head to foot in iron chains, appeared before them. The metal rattled horridly as she moved towards them, holding before her the lifeless body of Franklin."_

"I _knew_ he was gonna die."

"Didn't we all?"

"I wanted to know if his show choir won Nationals."

"He was in _church_ choir Brittany, there are no Nationals."

"_His mother screamed, and the sound was quickly followed by another, smaller figure cowering in the basement: the girl with the white hair, screaming as she sat by the unmoving body of her father._

"_My child was taken from me," the chained woman said, her voice rasping. "And now you send yours here to take her from her father."_

_Franklin's parents could not speak. They simply stared at the body of their son as the chained woman dropped him to the ground. "He was possessed," the woman continued. "My daughter replaced his blood with molten iron." She reached out for her daughter's left hand, and a vivid red scar was carved across her palm, matching that which she had cut across Franklin's hand."_

"Why is everybody cutting their hands open?" Kurt asked, shivering involuntarily.

"Franklin couldn't carve a pumpkin either," Blaine sniggered, stroking Kurt's side.

"_He is better off as he is now. Dead," the woman told them._

"_And Caspian?" the vicar asked._

"_It was because of him that my husband murdered me," the chained woman replied in a stony voice. "My daughter killed him too."_

"Wait, what?"

"Oh my God, she's a ghost!"

"Plot twist!"

"I did _not_ see that one coming."

"_Franklin's mother fainted with terror and the vicar's despairing cry was lost under the sound of the dead woman's clinking chains. Franklin's father however, was overcome with rage, and took hold of the girl with the white hair, crushing her throat with his hands and suffocating her…"_

"Murderer!"

"I knew he was fishy."

"Stop saying you knew what was gonna happen. If you did, you could have warned us not to listen to this crap."

"_The vicar and Franklin's parents were discovered in the basement of the manor house by the villagers and taken to safety two days later. The bodies of Caspian and his daughter were buried in the grounds of the manor, and Franklin was buried in the graveyard of the vicar's church._

_To this day, no one knows how the girl with the white hair managed to turn Franklin's blood to iron_-"

"Plot hole."

"_-but not long after that disastrous night, a blacksmith who was renowned for his ability to fashion iron chains of any length and weight, arrived in the village and bought the manor house. He moved in not a week later, and lived there alone until his death, living off the supplies he could grow in the grounds of the building and only visible at dusk when he stood in the front window, watching his front drive like a hawk eyeing its prey._

_Passers-by spoke of hearing the sounds of rattling chains and scratching claws long after the blacksmith's death and the demolishment of the manor house. What they didn't know, was that the girl with the white hair still walked the halls of the manor and the houses built in its succession, rattling in the chains that now wrapped her frail body, and clawing the window panes with blood dripping from her palm as she called out in a rasping voice, "Franklin, Franklin!"_

The tape crackled in the silent room, clearly attempting to hold a ghostly tension.

"Was that _it_?"

"I'm definitely gonna have nightmares."

"I don't get it. Did the blacksmith just want the house all along?"

"No, he wanted revenge for his wife cheating on him."

"But he killed his wife."

"And then his wife's ghost made her daughter kill the guy who owned the house."

"So his wife gave him the house. Kinda."

"We all knew it would be a load of crap. Can we start drinking again now?"

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked, his voice low so only Kurt could hear.

Kurt looked up, his eyes a dark shade of blue- grey and flickering with the reflection of the candles next to him. "Yeah," he nodded, attempting to sit up and wrap the blanket tighter at the same time. "That just freaked me out a little," he admitted.

"It _was_ a weird coincidence," Blaine agreed, reaching for Kurt's injured hand. "Is it hurting?"

"It wasn't, but the alcohol's wearing off now," Kurt said. "Or you know, my blood's turning to iron," he joked in a deep voice.

Blaine laughed quietly. "You want me to wrap you up in chains now or later?"

"Neither. You're the one getting wrapped in chains if I'm the one in leather pants."

"Deal."

**AN: Of course they all put out every candle before going downstairs because they're conscientious party people and know that they should never leave a burning flame unattended. And blowing out candles is fun.**

**I hope the italics/normal font aren't too difficult to distinguish between, I just really enjoyed added semi-anonymous comments throughout the narrative brilliance that is my horror story.**


	4. Candles

"Well that was completely pointless," Santana said, watching as Finn tucked the tape player away behind one of the drapes.

"What do _you_ suggest we do?" Sam asked, still lying over a mound of cushions, his ghost costume long since abandoned on the stair banister along with Blaine's hat and cloak and Puck's mask. Brittany petted his hair unconsciously with one hand whilst unlacing Rachel's boots with the other.

"I'm not the host here," Santana scoffed, admiring her blood red nails.

Kurt looked up, still half-wrapped in a blanket and wishing more every minute that he hadn't had that last round of shots. He had just opened his mouth to speak when he was distracted by a beam of red light shining through the rectangular windows at the top of the basement wall in front of him. "What was that?" he asked, pointing at the glass as the lights flashed again.

The group turned almost simultaneously to take a look, but the view through the windows was nothing but blackness.

"What was what?" Finn asked.

"That red light, it keeps flashing in front of the windows." Although his heart had begun to beat at an increasing speed, Kurt managed to keep any signs of fear out of his voice; he didn't need to be heard screaming _twice_ at his own Halloween party.

"It was probably just a tail light."

"At two am? And besides, it would only reach the window if the car was on _our_ driveway," Kurt conjectured.

"Maybe it's your parents?" Tina suggested.

"They're not supposed to be back until Wednesday," Blaine supplied, the red light flashing once more as he spoke.

"Okay, I saw it that time," Rachel said, jumping to her feet and stumbling lightly in her loosened boots. "Does your dad know you're having a party?" she directed at Kurt.

Kurt blinked. "Of course he does," he said, but his voice was growing unsteady and he watched as Puck and Sam both climbed to their feet too. "I mean, Carole does, and they know Blaine's staying…"

"You didn't ask him?!" Finn yelped at the same time Puck said, "Thanks for the drinks, Kurt," grabbing his mask and scrabbling around for a lost shoe.

"Guys wait," Blaine injected. "We don't even know if it's a car yet."

"Easy for you to say, you're the only one who's not gonna be sleeping in the street!" Quinn snapped, climbing from her cushion and eyeing the door.

"Shut up Quinn," Rachel retorted as Blaine bit his lip. "Kurt's dad wouldn't do that."

The majority of the group were moving around now, readjusting costumes, throwing back drapes in search of lost bags and squabbling over the last remaining cans of beer. Kurt however, paid them no attention.

"I can't find my tail! Kurt, can I come fetch it next week?"

"That can is mine."

"Dude, you've had your own and most of my share already."

"I told you a ghost costume was the best idea. You laughed at me and now who's the one who can't get up the stairs?"

"I can't get up the stairs anyway, I'm in a wheelchair!"

"Listen! Guys! Shut up!" Kurt yelled, finally jumping to his feet amidst the chaos. The room fell silent.

Or at least, it fell silent of human noises.

It was almost indiscernible, the heaviness of the night air seeming to drown it out, but as the ringing of the silence grew quieter, that one unnatural, unrecognisable sound grew louder, breaking through the stunned presence in the underground room and carrying the prophesized shiver of a cold breeze. It was a low _tap-tap-tap, _followed by the irrefutable sound of nails clawing a pane of glass.

Rachel screamed. Finn recoiled in shock. Puck dropped his last can of beer with a clunk. Tina's nails pierced Mike's wrist and Blaine's hands flew to his face.

Santana erupted in laughter.

Kurt looked over at her, but in no object to join in. He could feel the hairs on Blaine's arms brush against his and his own uneven stance wavered as he felt a cushion slide beneath his right foot. His pulse throbbed throughout his body but was somehow heavier in the palm of his left hand, held taught under the pressure of his bandage and growing steadily more painful.

_Tap-tap-tap._

This time, it was followed by the sound of chinking chains falling against each other.

Santana continued her barely-controlled hysterics until Brittany tugged her arm with cold fingers and caused her to suck in a breath, effectively cutting out her laughter. The group simply stared, eyes wide, jaws slack, around at each other, no one daring to admit they were scared but not wanting to address the obvious horror in the room either.

The only movement in the room was the quivering of the elongated shadows cast over the layers of material on the walls by the low burning candles; their light trapped inside their plastic holders and their heat no match against the ripening cold of the basement.

A loose floorboard creaked overhead, and Kurt was fairly certain his legs had melted beneath the leather of his trousers. There was a single heavy footstep, and the group grew closer together in their circle, completely unconscious of their own movements as they sought the protection of numbers. Kurt could feel Blaine's fingers loop into the laces of his waistcoat as his right shoulder bumped Rachel's in her attempt to grip his hand with her own. Hairs stood up on bare skin and breaths were held until lungs ached. The footsteps increased and there was no mistaking: they were coming closer.

"Oh my God, we're going to die," Artie whispered, his voice a hiss in the dead air.

"Someone turn on the light," Finn instructed, his voice equally low.

"_You_ go turn on the light; your moose face is our best bet for scaring away murderers."

"Santana!"

"_I'd_ go, but we've already addressed the fact that I can't get up the stairs by myself."

"Oh _sure_ Artie, we believe you."

"Why don't _you_ go do it if you're so badass?"

"What have I said about questioning my-"

It took nothing more than another squeal of claws to cut out their bickering once again. This time, it was drawn out and accompanied by the thud of shoes above them and the slow _swing-snap_ of a closing interior door.

"Fine," Blaine said with quiet conviction. "I'll do it."

Kurt blanched. "What?!"

Everyone stared at Blaine's low-lit face across the circle, a mixture of surprise, relief and respect on their faces. He slid his arm back from around Kurt's waist and stepped over a pair of scattered cushions.

"Well if no one else is gonna do it," he said by way of an explanation.

"_Blaine_."

"I'll be fine," Blaine said carefully, looking back at his boyfriend's chalk-white face before crossing the circle and reaching the stairs. "It's like, ten steps, right?"

But the very moment his leather-booted foot touched the bottom step, scuffing through the light layer of dust on the dark wood, there were two more echoing footsteps above, and the basement door was thrust open, emitting a blaze of golden light and presenting a tall figure dressed in a long white dress, dark hair curling at their shoulders and shining under a white halo hovering above their head. The whole figure was outlined in what Blaine could only describe as a furry heart, ruffled slightly and snowing white feathers down the staircase. It was an angel.

"Mercedes!" Blaine shouted, his voice echoing pure relief and astonishment.

"_Mercedes?"_ came the response from his watching friends as the girl in question flicked on the light switch and beamed down at them all.

"Hey guys, I knew you'd be here somewhere!" she said, watching their faces change from fear to delight as they ran towards the staircase.

"We're not gonna die!" Artie exclaimed.

"How did you get in?" Finn asked as Rachel threw her arms around Mercedes' neck.

"Spare key under the mat?" she replied easily. "I figured I'd come scare you all when no one answered the door. Sorry I was so late," she added to Kurt as he shuffled past Rachel to hug her himself. "Had a family thing."

"It's fine," Kurt dismissed, then paused. "Actually, it's not because you scared us half to death, but we forgive you." He laughed and led her into the kitchen as others followed.

What none of them noticed over the babble of excitement and relief was the slow _tap-tap-tap_ on glass, followed by another drawn-out screech and the _clink-clink-clink_ of iron chains echoing around the basement behind them.

* * *

By two-thirty am; the party reignited by Mercedes' arrival, the whole group were sat around on cushions in the basement again, this time cross-legged and holding each others' hands, eyeing either the sheet of polished wood in front of them, or Mercedes' astute expression at the head of the circle.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Rachel asked, her fingers laced with Finn's on her right and Sam's on her left. "I mean, we've all seen Jumanji."

"Jumanji wasn't a Ouija board," Artie contradicted.

"No, but they still almost got eaten by a crocodile!"

"Don't tell me you're scared, Berry!" Mercedes teased, grinning over at her. "Honestly, I've done this a hundred times and it's only ever been hilarious."

"There's nothing hilarious about this rule book," Kurt injected, flipping through the yellowed pages of the 'Talking Board Beginner's Guide' with a stiff expression. "They haven't exactly held back on the macabre imagery."

Mercedes just shook her head. "Oh just ignore that old thing. I don't think it was even part of this set. I only look at the superstitions page at the back anyway."

Kurt followed her instructions and turned to the back page, trying not to catch sight of anymore of the grim illustrations as he did so. Titled 'Ouijastitions', the last page was loose from the binding of the book, the paper even more worn and crumbling than that of those before it. It held nothing but a handwritten list, clearly written by someone who had not been concerned about the legibility of their words.

"_The first rule of the Ouija board_," Kurt read aloud. "_Is to never play alone. Inviting spirits into one's environment is to allow oneself to be host to these entities in ways which may ultimately become dangerous or destructive to said person, and the larger the group of mortal souls involved in the communication between life and death, the lower the risk of permanent possession or lingering effects of temporary possession in the living host._"

"Well there are thirteen of us here," Quinn said, counting around the circle. "I really doubt they'll be thirteen spirits."

"Yeah but thirteen's unlucky," Sam countered. "So they're gonna get us anyway."

"There's no such thing as ghosts!" Santana sneered, seated between Mercedes and Brittany. "We're just holding hands in the dark and you're calling it a party."

Mercedes just rolled eyes. "Read the next one, Kurt."

"_Beware of the following_," Kurt continued. Although more than half of the party guests were still sceptical, they grew quiet once again when he began to speak. _"If the planchette falls from the board at any point during the game, an evil spirit will escape."_

"What's a planchette?"

"This," Mercedes replied, holding up a small piece of wood shaped like a teardrop with three short 'legs' on its underside. "The planchette is what everyone places a finger on and it points to the letters and numbers on the board, so that the spirits can communicate with us."

"_Players should always be respectful and never torment or upset a spirit, lest they become possessed by, or release said spirit from the board into the mortal realm,_" Kurt carried on, squinting slightly at the scrawled ink in the dim room. "_Never use the Ouija board in a graveyard or place where death has occurred."_

"How do we know no one's died here?" Finn asked.

Blaine and Puck shared a look, both sniggering quietly.

"What?" Finn asked, looking between them with an expression of confusion.

"You're taking this pretty seriously Finn. Scared the dead people are gonna get you?" Puck asked.

"No, I mean… I'm not the only one," he refuted.

"This house was built like, ten years ago," Kurt supplied. "Chances of dead bodies are pretty slim." He continued reading from the booklet. "_Never use the Ouija board when injured or in a weakened state; a strong person is less likely to fall victim to possession._"

"I had flu last week," Rachel announced.

"Well Berry, you're first to go," Santana said, her voice a casual, matter-of-fact tone.

There was a low laugh around the circle as Rachel scowled, but Kurt tucked his left hand self-consciously beneath his cushion, his right hand still holding the guidebook and his steady composure slipping a little. "_The Ouija board will scream if lit or cast into flames. One who hears the scream holds a measure of thirty-six hours before the arrival of death_," Kurt finished, raising his eyes from the page and looking at Mercedes.

"Just keep it away from the candles," she said in response to his questioning look. "Alright, who wants to play?!"

There was a murmur of resigned agreement throughout the group; those who were still sceptical giving in to Mercedes' persuasion, and those who had taken the guidebook by its word not wanting to appear scared. They repositioned themselves around the board, closer this time. Kurt dropped the guidebook back into the game box and subconsciously ran the fingers of his right hand over the bandage on his left.

"Okay, everyone puts their right index finger on the planchette," Mercedes explained, placing the piece of wood at the centre of the board and her finger on top. The group copied, Rachel, Finn and Kurt the last few to do so.

"Everyone close your eyes," Mercedes said in low voice. The group complied. "Are there any spirits in this room?" she asked into the silence.

There was a beat.

Blaine and Santana burst into sardonic laughter and Puck simply snorted.

Mercedes sighed. "I told you it would be funny," she said fondly. "But wait until something good happens before you scare off the spirits."

Blaine cleared his throat. "Sorry, sorry," he said, waving a hand and fighting back a grin.

Mercedes cleared her throat. "Are there any spirits in this room?" she asked again.

This time, the group managed to hold in their amusement, the only movement a twitching finger or two and the flickering candles around the circle's perimeter. Kurt found himself holding his breath, his knees jammed between the bodies either side of him as too many people tried to cram into too small a space.

"If there's anyone out there, give me a sign," Mercedes said, her voice steady.

"Hit me baby one more time!" Brittany sang in a whisper, and this time, the whole group erupted in laughter. "What?" she asked, eyes wide.

Everyone sat up, taking their fingers from the planchette and grinning around at each other. Rachel shook a cramp from her wrist and leaned back against Finn's chest. "This is _not_ going to work," she said, shaking her head bemusedly.

"Did you really think it would?" Puck asked, stretching his arms above his head. "I mean, your boyfriend was practically peeing himself but-"

"I was _not_!"

"Guys!" Kurt hissed, his eyes focussed on something behind Mike. Everyone turned to look. He pointed to the plastic holder of the candle he had lit first that night, now holding a smouldering wick. "That candle just went out."

As he spoke, the candle directly to the left of the one he was pointing at was hit by an indeterminable breeze and was snuffed out too, making a noticeable difference to the light level in the room. Kurt's heart thrust almost painfully-hard against his ribs, and the breaths of his friends caught audibly in their throats.

"Quick, everybody put your fingers back on the planchette!" Mercedes hissed, leaning forward over her lap.

"What?!" Kurt and Rachel yelped simultaneously.

"Just do it, come on!"

A third candle was extinguished as they all reached for the board, pulses racing. Kurt caught Rachel's eye across the circle, mirroring her stricken expression. She nodded almost imperceptibly and the two of them placed their fingers on the planchette, jaws tight.

The fourth candle, then the fifth. The air now carried the soft, throat-warming scent of smoke as the darkness grew around the teenagers all staring at the board.

"How many candles are there?" Blaine whispered, his voice rippling. They all knew the answer without needing confirmation.

"Thirteen," Kurt mimed soundlessly.

The sixth, the seventh, the eighth. Sam swallowed loudly and Tina plucked at her skirt with her free hand. Quinn had her left hand over her mouth and Mike's eyes were tight shut. Kurt felt Blaine's hair brush his cheek and leaned into him as the ninth candle was choked out. Brittany sniffed loudly and Finn ground his teeth, but Mercedes held her steady gaze on the planchette, unmoving and unafraid.

Ten, eleven, twelve. Pause.

The thirteenth candle burned Halloween orange, a single light source leaking through the space between Kurt and Brittany and allowing only the game board to be visible amongst the swallowing darkness. Teeth clamped onto bottom lips and fingers grew numb with cold, solid fear.

The single surviving candle flickered once, and the planchette began to move.

Its path wasn't smooth; it seemed to stop several times across the board for weighted seconds before continuing, thirteen fingers balanced on its top as it made its decision. It finally reached the letter 'I' and came to a solid stop.

No one spoke; everyone's eyes were locked on the board. Blaine could feel the familiar warmth of Kurt's cheek next to his, but when he turned a millimetre to the right, he could see nothing.

The planchette moved again, somewhat faster this time, until it reached the 'A'. It moved five more times before the candle flickered again, and they all knew that it signalled the end of the response.

I-A-M-H-E-R-E

Kurt's eyes glanced over in the general direction of Mercedes, but he was greeted only by gloom.

"Who are you?" Mercedes whispered. "Can you tell us your name?"

The thirteenth candle flickered once, and the planchette moved over the alphabet again.

M-Y-N-A-M-E-I-S

It stopped again. A ripple passed through the circle, quiet breaths taken through tightly clenched teeth.

F-R-A-N

Kurt snatched his hand back from the planchette and clutched it to his chest. "No! No, no, no," he shuddered. "I am not playing anymore, this is stupid." He didn't care how childish he sounded, he didn't care that no one else was as scared as he was, because they'd all played along; for those few minutes they'd all believed it too.

"Hey, it's okay," Blaine said softly, taking his hand off the planchette and fumbling in the darkness to wrap it around Kurt's waist.

K-L

"It's not. Mercedes I know it's you, can we just stop?" Kurt protested, glaring in her general direction over the board.

"It's not me, Kurt," she hissed back, still concentrating on the game.

I-N

"Franklin," Mercedes whispered as the candle flickered again.

"Like the story," Rachel said, her voice high and tight in her throat. She was clutching Finn's thigh with her left hand and shaking hard, though no one could see. Her finger however, unlike Kurt and Blaine's, was still on the planchette.

"What story?" Mercedes asked.

"The horror story we listened to earlier," Kurt explained, not bothering to hide the shaking in his voice. "You weren't even here Mercedes, how did you know?"

"I didn't, it's not me, I swear."

The candle flickered again, impatient.

"Let me ask him something," Santana demanded, though her voice too, was constrained. She paused, and Blaine was surprised to hear she wasn't going to make a joke. "Did you know the girl with the white hair?"

Kurt closed his eyes. He wanted to yell at them all and tell them they were being stupid. There were no such thing as ghosts, and yes, he knew it was supposed to be fun and harmless and a _game_, but now he was scared, and this was not the plan for his party: the host was not supposed to be scared of his guests.

_Unless his guests were dead_, a voice said in the back of his mind.

He shuddered again, trapping a handful of Blaine's shirt beneath his fingers until the cut in his palm throbbed.

The planchette began to move again, seeming not to care that two party members were no longer playing. It was swift now, already having made up its mind.

YES-S-H-E-C-U-R-S-E-D-M-E

The planchette paused. The candle flickered. The room was filled with a soft _tap-tap-tap_ on the window and the sound of claws screeching down a pane of glass.

"Oh my God," Rachel breathed, tears prickling in her eyes.

"Kurt's right; we need to stop," Blaine said abruptly, his voice too loud.

And then the thirteenth candle went out.

**AN: Okay, this got _way_ longer than it was supposed to, but I guess I got carried away with the tension-building. :')**

** I used 'museum of talking boards . com' as a reference for the superstitions so um credit to them, I guess. **

**One more chapter to come...**


	5. Game Over

"Keep your hands on the planchette!" Mercedes yelled. "We have to finish the game."

"I don't want to play anymore! I can't even see the stupid planchette!" Rachel cried, tears streaming for no one to see.

"Shut up!" Puck shouted back. "We can't upset the spirits, remember."

"There. Are. No. Spirits."

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain the candles going out? The freaky noises? Yeah, maybe Mercedes could have moved the planchette but she didn't know who Franklin was!" Santana argued.

"Stop saying his name!" Kurt hissed, his face buried in his hands.

"Come on," Blaine said, standing and tugging his arm. "Let's go upstairs."

He pulled his phone out of the pocket in his jeans, cursing himself for not having thought of this sooner. Unlocking the screen barely created enough light to cut through the darkness, but Blaine opened a torch app and a white beam speared away from him as Kurt pulled himself to his feet by his side.

"No, Blaine!" Mercedes yelled.

The planchette moved again, this time at such a rapid speed it was difficult to understand its message.

T-U-R-N-O-U-T-T-H-E-L-I-G-H-T

But Blaine was already halfway across the room, stumbling half-blind towards the stairs, dragging Kurt behind him. Rachel jumped to her feet and scrabbled desperately for her own phone.

"Guys, stop!" Finn yelled.

There was a sudden screech and the sound of clanking chains, so much louder than it had been previously, echoed around them, over and over again.

Blaine froze, the light from his phone flashing erratically in his shaking hand. Kurt clung to his other arm, breathing hard and Rachel looked down to see the thirteenth candle spark in flame once again.

Those around the board turned to the planchette once more, watching in horror as it spelled out a request.

H-E-L-P-M-E

H-E-L-P-M-E

H-E-L-P-M-E

The clanking stopped and the candle flickered once again. Quinn pulled her hand away from the board, trying to stand up and pull a frozen Brittany with her, but Sam grabbed her wrist and she stopped, casting him an inelegant glare.

"Wait," Sam said, his voice carrying a rare authority. "Let's just tell him we can't help and say goodbye. Then we can finish the game, okay? Whether this is real or not."

The group looked at each others' dimly lit faces, no one happy, but no one protesting. Sam tugged Rachel back down, and with a reassuring nod from Finn, she placed her finger back on the planchette, closely followed by Quinn.

"Guys, come on," Sam called to Kurt and Blaine, the latter who still held his lit phone.

"We weren't playing anyway," Kurt spoke steadily for the first time in a long while. "We already took our hands off."

The planchette shuddered at his words, and once again spelled out a demand.

T-U-R-N-O-U-T-T-H-E-L-I-G-H-T

"Just do as it says, and the game will finish sooner," Puck stated.

Kurt deliberated for several seconds, then said, "Okay," in a reluctant voice. He could feel Blaine's eyes on him, even if neither of them could see. "Along as this really is the end of it."

He walked, albeit with difficulty, back to the group, with Blaine and his torch following apprehensively. They took their places once again and Blaine flipped off the light, breathing deeply in the silence.

"Put your fingers back on," Mercedes instructed gently.

They did as they were told and the planchette moved again.

H-E-L-P-M-E

"We're sorry, Franklin," Santana announced in a strong voice. "We can't help you."

YES-Y-O-U-C-A-N

_Don't upset the spirits_, the guidebook had said. How was that possible if no one really knew if they believed in them or not?

For the first time that night, Blaine addressed the spirit.

"How do you think we can help you?" he asked, sharply aware of how violently his boyfriend was shaking next to him, and of how hard his own heart was pounding at that very moment.

The candle flickered.

G-I-V-E-H-I-M-T-O-M-E

Rachel's tears had progressed into sobs, which were quickly followed by Tina's. Kurt was fairly certain his body had been drained of blood, because of course, he knew what was coming; it was obvious. The pumpkin carving, the increasing pain under the bandage, the spooky coincidence on the tape, the joke about possession. Blaine was the only one who knew what had happened that afternoon. They hadn't even told Finn.

"Who do you want?" Mike asked.

H-E-K-N-O-W-S

H-I-S-H-A-N-D-I-S-B-L-E-E-D-I-N-G

Kurt couldn't breathe, but it took nothing more than one swollen beat before Blaine had ripped his hand away from the board, knocking the planchette off the edge, clawed his way to his feet and sprinted to the staircase. He could see nothing in front of him; it was instinct alone which led him across the room, the darkness only seeming to thicken around him. His feet found the bottom step as he heard several of his friends shouting his name, but he ignored them, scrambling his way up against the banister, higher and higher until he was level with the door.

Someone screamed, the planchette must have moved again, but Blaine didn't care for what it had to say. He ran one hand over the bare-brick wall, clawing for the light switch, whilst the other scrabbled at the kitchen door, seeking out its wooden handle.

"Where's the switch? Where's the switch?" he hissed, his fingers finally brushing smooth, cool plastic. It clicked, and the whole basement was lit in safe, sheltering light.

"_Blaine!_ "

There he was. Standing, a statuesque nightmare, in the centre of the room, unoccupied cushions in a scattered circle around his chain-buried feet and a pool of blood catching the steady crimson drip from his left palm: the boy from the tape. Franklin.

The dead boy watched him with black eyes, and Blaine couldn't look away. He knew he should be panicking, he knew there should be twelve other people in the room; his friends, _his boyfriend_, but his body was frozen, his blood was ice. Franklin had already taken them all the moment Blaine had let go of the planchette, the moment he had turned his back. There was nothing he could do now; they were already gone.

"Blaine, please."

There was a sharp tug in his stomach, and Blaine felt himself surge forwards, his feet knocking together as he fell headfirst down the staircase, through the icy air and into the ghost's grasp.

There were invisible hands gripping at his wrists, disembodied claws tugging at his hair. Blaine flinched instinctively, writhing away from their touch, but they held him down on the dust smeared floor, ready to be imprisoned in iron chains. He could no longer see Franklin, only hear muffled cries in the darkness.

"Open your eyes._ Please_ open your eyes!"

The voice was familiar. Achingly so. But there was no one around, no one to help him, because he hadn't helped them; not like he'd intended to.

Something hot and wet landed on his cheek and he clamped his teeth into his bottom lip in response. It dripped again, this time landing near his mouth. It tasted like salt.

"_Blaine!"_

And now there were lips on his forehead and pain throbbed through his skull, but the touch was soft and warm and someone was sobbing. Someone who smelled like vanilla.

Blaine's chest heaved painfully as his eyelids flew open. He was lying on his back on a solid floor, pain throbbing in his head and along his spine. There was a bright light on his face and everything in it was blurred and distant, but he could see blue eyes and wet cheeks and shaking lips that spread into a soft smile as soon as his gaze reached them.

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, relief surging through his body at the sight of his boyfriend's movement. He kissed him again; his cheeks this time, as Blaine blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"What happened?" he asked softly, his throat dry. Rachel was sitting on his left, holding tightly to his hand whilst Quinn shushed her sobs. Tina sat at his head, her long vampire nails stroking his hair, and if he squinted hard enough, Blaine could make out the faces of his other friends standing around him, all wearing matching expressions of anxiety. Someone had moved all of the burnt out candles to the top of the staircase, and the one that remained burning sat next to them, its light now dim in comparison to that of the bulbs in the ceiling.

"You fell down the stairs, Honey, it's okay," Kurt replied, his fingers on Blaine's cheek. "You're going to be okay."

"But you," Blaine started, his voice catching in his throat. "You're not hurt?"

"Of course I'm not," Kurt said in a high voice, watching him fondly but with unhidden confusion. "You're the one who ran up the stairs to save us."

Blaine tried to shake his head; that wasn't what he'd meant, but a searing pain pounded through his forehead and he flinched in response.

"Lie still," Kurt chided. "Where does it hurt?"

"I'm fine," he tried to say. "There's no blood, right?"

"You could have broken your neck," Rachel insisted.

"No, there's no blood," Tina interrupted. "Finn was all for calling you an ambulance, but-"

"No, no, don't do that," Blaine protested, forcing himself to sit up as the basement swam around him. Kurt wrapped his arm instinctively around his back, and Blaine had to fight the urge to yelp in pain at the pressure on his spine. "Can I just get an ice pack or something?"

"I'll get it," Finn said, speaking for the first time since Blaine had regained consciousness. He turned and swept up the stairs, heading for the kitchen. Quinn and Rachel moved backwards as Blaine attempted to stand up.

Kurt followed, watching him warily and gripping his bicep. "Come on," he said, addressing the rest of the group. "Bring your stuff and you can all sleep in the lounge."

There was a murmur of relief around the watching party before everyone grabbed a cushion or two and whichever belongings they'd brought downstairs. They followed Blaine's tentative footsteps out of the basement and Tina flipped off the light.

There was no one left in the basement to see the Ouija board, now lying flat at the edge of the staircase, its planchette sitting ominously on the surface. The guidebook had been haphazardly dropped next to it, the loose page falling out to lie face down next to the board. There was no one left to see the tight scrawl on the back of the page which bore one last warning: '_Never leave the planchette on the board when either item is no longer in use.'_

A few minutes later, the basement door was pushed closed by one of the guests in the kitchen, and the resulting breeze caused the thirteenth candle to fall from the staircase, smash echoingly onto the ground amidst the sound of clinking chains resonating from the tape player, still plugged into the mains behind the black curtains. There was no one left to see the surviving flame ignite the board where the planchette had begun to move steadily across the surface to spell out the final word.

G-O-O-D-B-Y-E

And then it screamed.

**AN: The end… Let's hope no one heard the scream! Thanks for reading and have a Happy Halloween!**


End file.
